


Rest

by temporalgambit



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 08:47:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12553692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporalgambit/pseuds/temporalgambit
Summary: Noct is too sick and miserable to sleep. Luckily, he has Prompto.





	Rest

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt:
> 
> “how about Noct with a cold, so stuffy and congested that laying down hurts and he can’t sleep at all, and Prom making him tea and rubbing his temples and letting him fall asleep up against him when it’s finally better enough Noct can relax."

“Wow, Ignis really stocked the place, huh?”

Prompto sounds amazed—perhaps rightfully so. The advisor _had_ gone a little overboard with the soup and tissue supply, but he’d been so genuinely _worried_ that Noct hadn’t had the heart to shoo him away. Ignis has been through dozens of illnesses with him—even caught a number of them, himself—but his tendency to fret has never wavered.

Overbearing as it can be, it’s also one of his most endearing traits.

Still, despite Ignis’s protests, Noct absolutely _had_ to send him home. He knows the guy well enough to tell when he’s been running himself ragged; it was written all over his stiff posture, the hint of roughness in his voice, the pinch in his expression like he was getting a headache. So he’d called Prompto—half for company, half to appease his perpetual mother hen—and sent Ignis on his way.

“Yeah, he…does that,” Noct’s own voice is a trainwreck, gravelly and half an octave lower than usual. _“Almost sexy,”_ Prompto had called it, _“except for the whole ‘disgustingly contagious’ part.”_

Noct is inclined to agree.

Prompto hums thoughtfully, closing the cabinet he’d been poking around in. Disgusting contagions be damned, he saunters over to the sofa, easing himself down beside Noct—mindful of his sore _everything_. “What do you want to do on your sick day, your highness?” he teases.

“Sleep,” it’s a bluntly honest statement. He’s only been sick for three days, but he feels like he could use at least a week of blissful unconsciousness.

It’s not that he hasn’t been sleeping, but rather that he hasn’t been sleeping _well_. It’s nearly impossible to find a position that doesn’t hurt _some_ part of his miserable, aching body, and when he _does_ find something suitable, it turns out to be the perfect position to aggravate his cough. Combined with the horrific crud draining down the back of his sore throat and making him choke, sleep has been sporadic at worst and restless at best.

“Hmm…” Prompto takes one of Noct’s hands, absently stroking his thumb over the hills and valleys of his knuckles. “You having a hard time falling asleep?”

Noct shakes his head, immediately regretting it when his world tilts dizzily. “I _can_ , I just—” he clears his throat, grimacing hard, “I keep waking myself up.”

Prompto thinks for another moment. “You think tea would help? Ignis left a box…er…a _couple_ boxes, in the cabinet. Chamomile, I think.”

“Yeah…” While the idea of something warm in his stomach is appealing, the realization that it’ll have to make it past his raw throat is almost enough to turn him away.

As is reading his mind, Prompto interjects, “I can add honey, too. That’s good for your throat. And it’s good to avoid dehydration, and it’ll help thin out mucus, and the warmth can loosen things up in your chest, and…” he’s mostly muttering to himself now as he heads back into the kitchen. Noct feels a swell of fondness bloom behind his sternum.

He hears a few cabinet doors opening and closing, the sink running, then the _click_ and _woosh_ of the burner lighting. Prompto returns a moment later.

“I put the kettle on. You should probably get into bed; sleeping on the couch can’t be very good for your back.”

He’s right, of course, but Noct _groans_ , burying his face beneath the blanket.

“C’mon, it’s like twenty feet away. You can do it.”

So Noct lets Prompto drag him to his feet, gladly accepting his steadying arm as the room swims before his eyes. He’s wobbly and embarrassingly winded by the time they make it to the bedroom, and he wastes no time collapsing face-down, coughing drily into his pillow.

A piercing whistle fills the air, and Prompto swears, leaving Noct to his misery long enough to go tend to the kettle. He returns after a few minutes, steaming mug in hand. Noct turns his head far enough to watch listlessly as he places the mug on the bedside table, scurrying around the bed to pile a veritable mountain of pillows at the headboard.

“Let’s get you settled in,” his voice is encouraging, but Noct wants nothing more than to stay right where he is. A few prods in the ribs, however, provide more than enough motivation for him to shimmy his way beneath the comforter, allowing Prompto to guide him into a somewhat-upright position against the pillows. The mug is quickly pressed into his hands, and Noct takes a moment to enjoy the heat leaching into his fingers before raising it to his lips and blowing. Wisps of steam dissolve into the air, and it’s not long before he deems it safe enough to drink.

Prompto hovers anxiously, concern stamped over his features as Noct takes the first sip. It’s _good_ , warm and thick with just enough honey to coat his throat. His pleasure must show on his face, because the hard line of Prompto’s shoulders relaxes immediately.

He drains the rest of the tea in record time, reveling in the warmth emanating from his core. He doesn’t even realize he’s falling asleep until he suddenly jolts himself awake. Prompto takes the mug from his slack fingers and helps him get comfortable, pulling the blankets up to his chin. As his eyes slip shut, he feels a warm kiss pressed to his temple, and he smiles.

Prompto’s hand in his is the last thing he remembers before darkness pulls him under.

* * *

He’s woken all-too-soon by the rattling, insistent urge in his chest telling him to _cough_.

It’s a thick, wet, hacking noise that sounds awful even to his own ears, so he’s not surprised when Prompto comes rushing into the room. There’s a hand on his back, guiding him to sit up, and another firmly rubbing his chest, trying to soothe his overtaxed muscles.

By the time he’s finally able to rest back against the pillows, Noct is so exhausted he could just about cry. He can feel his pulse in the pressure of his sinuses, thrumming along like a steady drumbeat. Keeping his eyes open is a struggle, but somehow it still seems preferable to the tease that every fleeting promise of rest has been.

“I thought you were sleeping,” Prompto’s voice is nearly as gentle as the hand he presses to Noct’s forehead, trying to gauge temperature, “How’re you feeling?”

“My head hurts,” Noct croaks, sounding nearly as pathetic as he feels, “I’m so _tired_ , Prom.”

Prompto makes a small, sympathetic noise. “You want me to lay with you?”

He nods, and that’s all the permission Prompto needs to clamber into bed beside him, snuggling up close beneath the covers. He loops an arm around Noct’s shoulders, hands threading their way up into his hair—massaging gentle circles from the crown of his head all the way down to his throbbing temples. Noct can’t stop the low, appreciative moan that forms in the back of his throat. He sags into Prompto’s side, cheek smushed into his shoulder.

“M’gonna get you sick,” he murmurs as an afterthought, though he makes no move to put distance between them.

Prompto huffs a laugh. “Don’t you think we’re past that point already?”

“Probably.” Already, Noct can feel the enticing lull of sleep just on the edge of his awareness. He rubs his face into the soft material of Prompto’s t-shirt, a little thrill spiking in his chest when Prompto pulls him closer. “Love you,” he mumbles, knowing damn well he doesn’t say it enough.

Prompto stills immediately. But then, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, Noct can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, “Love you too. Get some sleep; I’ll be here if you need me.”

With that promise in mind, Noct thinks he’ll be able to rest just a little bit easier.


End file.
